


This Is How It Goes

by truth_seeker_1789



Category: BBC Merlin, Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality is a jerk, patience is a virtue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truth_seeker_1789/pseuds/truth_seeker_1789
Summary: This is how it goes: destiny isn't always kind, and living can be very lonely.





	

This is how it goes.

The rain was falling in steady droplets from the drainpipe, landing in the soil of the barren garden below, a cold fog seeping in through the cracks of the door and enveloping everything in its embrace. He watched the world outside change around him, never stopping. There was the wind, whispering an ancient song on raspy lips as it pushed through the nettles clinging to the only greenery in sight, a solemn warning and a vow to anyone who cared to listen. There was the mist, wrapping itself around his shoulders like an old friend, touch so light he could have ignored its very presence, but reaching so deep within his spirit that the shiver it induced radiated from his very core, shaking the frozen earth in his awareness.

This is how it goes.

He had forgotten what it was like to simply enjoy the world before him, to stare up at the stars and marvel at the mysteries they held, wonder at the stories they had to share. It had been aeons too long, and the stories were no longer a mystery. There was no more wanderlust within him. Every story to be shared had been told, and no more secrets were held from him.

This is how it goes.

The old world had been fraught with danger around every corner, every rustle in the branches surely something or someone waiting to take one's last breath. There had been many nights where the slightest snap of a twig or the lightest rustle of a scurrying mouse would set him on edge, figure tensed and ready to strike in a manner that could almost gain him the title of a warrior. It had taken what felt like millennia for his spirit to calm, to settle into the routine and peace that his small cottage provided.

This is how it goes.

Eternity was too long, for any man. He was only one person, after all, and everything in the world could never take that simple fact away from him. He had seen the rise and fall of kings, played his hand in destiny far more times than his conscious cared to admit. He was a fraud, an advisor, a madman, a dictator, a hero- He had played every role, each time hoping to find a reason for this, a way to bring about an end to his turmoil. But none ever came.

This is how it goes.

The fire does nothing to warm his chilled spirit, does nothing to penetrate the mist that has shrouded his soul in mourning greys and dampened ill-intentions. His mind is plagued by the memories and dreams, images of what had been and what could have been morphing together so rapidly that sometimes he confuses the two, wondering if they had been one and the same, or if perhaps neither had been at all. Perhaps he really is no more, a wraith passing by, trapped forever in the pines, staring at the ending rain and droplets left behind.

This is how it goes.

There was a time, oh so very long ago, when he would have smiled and danced and laughed and trilled at the thought of eternity. There was a moment, centuries ago it seems, where he would have considered such a life a gift, one he would share with loved ones and allies alike, so giving and selfless that it was a miracle his life hadn't ended before it had even begun. There was a time when he was whole, full of life and whimsy, bright-eyed and full of an endless curious energy that lead him to the furthest reaches of their world, pushing beyond the borders they had chartered, challenging the others to follow, full of mirth at his antics.

This is how it goes.

Every life comes to an end. Some are bright and leave an endless streak for the eye to follow, everlasting past even the timeline of humanity itself. Some are a mere speck of sand, insignificant to the whole story, a piece that is forgotten by history itself, nothing more than a whisper in the ancient wind. Some are like a hurricane, shattering windows and levelling entire forests in its rage. But each had played a part. Every life that had crossed his path, he could recall with absolute certainty. The bards and minstrels, the monks and scholars, the historians and filmwriters may have forgotten; he never had.

This is how it goes.

Sometimes he speaks in the Old Tongue, letting his mind wander back to the centuries passed, recalling all the steps that had led to this fate, to this destiny, to this curse. He was bound to wander this land forever, weary and worn as his spirit may be. There were many times he had used this knowledge to his advantage, a fearsome opponent whenever a cocky face would arise from the crowds, plucking itself from the endless consistency and leaving a mark for him to look back upon. Challengers who would give him a marker in history, reminding him of broad smiles he saw when he was a different man, upon a different path, or sometimes the cocksure smirk that made him remember delicate hands and a queenly posture.

This is how it goes.

Every few decades, he sets a new name for himself, though his location has not changed. Sometimes, he allows himself to age, but there comes a point where he grows weary of aching joints and the inevitable fatigue that comes with it. He returns to the face he held then, one he needs to see no longer as he has memorised it aeons ago. He no longer goes by the titles his people had associated him with, no longer feels he has the right to claim he is half the man they imagined he would be. He is just a man, a tired old man who simply wishes his time would cease to be.

This is how it goes.

He has reached a point beyond exhaustion, a deep loss in his spirit that cannot be filled by the lovers who have warmed his bed, or by the smiles that he has brought to many throughout the years. Eternity is lonely, and serenity is a fleeting dream that disappears as quickly as umbrella hairs on a dandelion. He has long ago lost the memory of the taste of his favourite food, can no longer remember the sound of his mother's voice. He has a vague, fuzzy warmth when he thinks of her, dreams of forests and sunlight when he thinks of her. But her eyes and face and hair are no more a part of his memories, lost forever. He can only associate smells and colours with the home he once knew, can no longer remember the cities that once stood where ruins now lay.

This is how it goes.

Time no longer has any meaning for someone who cannot die. There was a time, only decades ago, when he had begged and cursed the very skies and earth below for some sort of way to end it, the oceans and rocks swaying to his demands, but never the one he so desperately desired. The land still needed him, for his spirit and this earth were one and the same. How dare he be born with emotion, with the curse and plague of humanity. Who were the Ancients, to bestow this curse, not the blessing they claimed, upon him? Destiny, the wind had rasped, playing in his hair, mimicking his mother's touch, pushing him down into a warm bed of fauna.

This is how it goes.

He is the land, and the land is he. He survives even the darkest hours of humanity because he is forever bound to this earth, destined to wait for a future that has yet to finish writing itself. His doom had been foretold since the start of life, since the very first breath was shakenly taken in this place. He would be the last, would never see the end of cleansing rains, bloodstained fields, or chilling mists. He was so tired, wishing he could pull himself deeper into the earth, let it consume him until he was no more, drift away into the waters of the river, thoughts swirling and drowning away till he was no more human, just another piece of the land to which he was bound.

This is how it goes.

The fire pops nearby, startling him out of his revery. There is a shuffle behind him, a warm chuckle and a wall of heat settling behind him on the window seat, companion staring off into the into the forest as well. He cannot hear the words whispered on the wind, nor can he feel the comfort meant to be found within the mist. He is as much a part of this land as the immortal, but he did not have the burden of unfulfilled destiny biting at his heels.

This is how it goes.

A strong back positions itself against his own, chasing away the final remnants of the fog. His companion says nothing, but the unspoken words pique his attention anyway, evoking a deep sigh, earning yet another warm chuckle, one not meant to be condescending. He smiles warmly, leaning his head back and inhaling the scent of apples rising from his friend's hair.

This is how it goes.

Eternity is a lonely curse. But the small moments scattered throughout are perhaps the only reason he continues to fight on. The droplets left from the winter's rain continue to fall in a slowing rhythm onto the soil below the drainpipe, and the smile broadens even further across his lips.


End file.
